Flirt
by Scyrie
Summary: England receives an unwanted guest, who figures he's always wanted everywhere- he's France!


England, baking scones as usual, bounced along to some loud punk music playing on his stereo. Like always in his house, he was in ripped jeans with high-top boots and a nearly-shredded tank-top, singing along. France, who was strolling around England's neighborhood in search of beautiful objects, trotted up to the fellow blonde's door and knocked.

"Englaaaaand~!" he calls out, not stopping his rapping on the wooden door.

The British blonde groaned at France's voice, turning off his music. Pulling on a coat, he opened the door with a raised eyebrow, glaring. "What do you want."

Instantly trotting inside past England, France hopped up onto the coffee table and stood there, his arms akimbo. "…I came to bother you, of course~!"

England groaned once more, continuing to glare at France. Going back to his scones, he pulled them out of the oven. "Get off of my coffee table, you stupid git."

Practically prancing over to England, France grins. "Alright then~!" He tilted his head at the scones England had made, leaning his weight on one foot. "…oh dear, what sort of vile creation has birthed itself in your oven this time?"

The shorter blonde snarled, preparing to elbow France in the gut. "They're bloody scones!" he snapped.

Laughing, France playfully whacked England's elbow away from his stomach. "…silly cheri, calm yourself."

England narrowed his eyes evilly at France, curling his lip. Walking over to the counter, he sets the tray of scones down on it to allow them to cool. "If you're not here for a good reason, Francois, leave…!"

Smirking, France lowered his hand to England's ass, groping him. "Oh, let me stay anyway, Arthur~!"

Yelping, England jumped and turned to face France with wide eyes. He stared at him wide-eyed, his cheeks completely red. "What the hell…?" he snapped.

Nearly giggling, France ruffled England's hair and leaned against the shorter man's counter. "What an adorable reaction, cheri~!" the French blonde laughed his characteristic 'ohonhonhon' laugh.

The Brit pouted cutely, turning away from France again to start making a pot of tea. After a bit, he left to turn his stereo back on, but kept it quieter, deciding not to respond. Grabbing one of England's scones, the French blonde looks it over curiously.

"…tell me, what is this 'scone' supposed to taste like, BritBrit?" he asked.

England snarled at the nickname, but let it slide that time. "Rather likes a cookie, of sorts. Wait until the tea is finished, it will make it taste better."

Setting the scone down, France nodded and trotted over to England, looking him up and down. "Why is it, England, you wear tattered clothing? As sexy as it looks on you, mon cheri, it is considered improper in most other countries. Although… I wouldn't complain if you came to my house in less clothing," he said with a smirk.

Blushing a dark red, England shrugged, raising an eyebrow. "As if I care about other countries? And I would _not_ go to your house…!"

Playfully slipping his finger into one of the higher rips in England's pants, the French blonde smirks sexually at him. "…oh, you at least care about moi, don't you, cheri~?"

The fellow blonde squeaked, pulling away from France again. "_Don't do_ that! You _idiotic git_!"

Grinning, France playfully pinned England in a corner of the kitchen. Laughing, France tilts his head as he asked, "…what is wrong, au petit?"(au petit- shorty)

England squeaked again, blushing bright red and staring up at France. "Nothing! You're just too bloody up-close-and-personal!"

Pressing his chest to England's, France's grin turned into a smirk. "Ah, but you enjoy it, do you not?"

The shorter man blushed a dark red than before, trying to push France off of him. "I do _not_…!"

Pulling a random rose out of his jacket, France raises it between their mouths, getting so close to England it was their only space. "…why won't you let me flirt with you, cheri…?" he asked.

The blonde pouted cutely, looking away from France. He was unable to think of a decent-enough response besides 'you bother me', so he shrugged. Instantly, France removed the rose, pressing his lips to England's. Widening his eyes, England stiffened up. For a long time, he remained like that, then lowered his eyelids, relaxing again, unable to help it as he felt the warm silky feeling of France's tongue against hi own.


End file.
